I just got back from my week-long expedition into the high desert, in the area between Bryce Canyon National Park, Dixie National Forest, and the Grand Canyon. To sum up the hike, it was several days of carrying 60+ pounds on your back through bristlecone, cedar, and other tree groves, wild rock formations, intense insect populations, high heat, and no water. Basically, a place where you’d die in two days without water or electrolytes. Sounds like a relaxing time off, right? Surprisingly, it was.
I’ve established a routine: once a year I take a group of young people out into complete wilderness, where there’s no possible hope of connecting to any network and no way to keep Starlink functioning (because carrying solar panels, batteries, etc., would mean not carrying an extra liter of water). Disconnecting has a primal and powerful healing effect that cannot be underestimated. This practice has transformed my own mental state many times, and I’ve seen that effect in others as well.
One of the benefits of these hikes is that I get time to remember what it’s like to just be me, by myself, and in my own head. No outside influences, just me. With no real entertainment source, I’m forced to observe the world around me and think about my place in that world with surprising clarity. After the third day, the ideas start to flow. New concepts, new ways of viewing things, and thoughts that are independent of my overdependence on luxuries.
When you’re focused solely on core survival, suddenly every other trivial nicety loses its grip. You become more observant, more capable of seeing the truth of things. It’s a sad state of affairs that we’ve built this lifestyle so centered on rapid communication, instant advertising, and a constant stream of entertainment that we’ve forgotten what our ancestors dealt with for thousands of years.
This clutter of the mind is recent, within my lifetime. Before the 1970s, most people found limited entertainment in television and radio. Movies were a once-a-month treat, and only for those with discretionary income. We don’t realize how rich we’ve become. We see a growing homeless population and assume there’s a widening gap between rich and poor. That may be true, but the discretionary consumer spending of the majority dwarfs what society looked like over 50 years ago.
It wasn’t long ago that home gardening was not just a hobby but a necessity. In the last 100 years, we’ve morphed from a nearly 100% agrarian society, where people lived, worked, and ate off their land, to a society that is nearly 100% urban, working away from home and buying food from grocery stores, restaurants, and fast-food outlets.
Not too long ago, the only sources of entertainment were stories around the fireplace, dances at a community hall, or games improvised from whatever could be found around the farm.
While on our trip, a few things happened that struck me in this regard. First, I saw young people inventing new games. One was called “pine cone bowling.” The rules were simple: set up some pine cones, throw a rock at them, and count how many you knock down.
Other games were revived. All the young people learned to play poker for the first time in their lives. I had a single deck of cards and taught them the rules. I was shocked that not one of my traveling companions knew the basic structure of poker or how betting worked. The only way they could learn today is by downloading a poker app or watching the World Series of Poker on a streaming service. They had never done so.
Cut off from the world, they were forced to figure out what to do with just a single deck of cards. We played with trail mix, leaves, and small sticks as chips. We sat on uncomfortable rocks and laughed, interacted, and genuinely had fun,entirely self-generated fun, not pumped into our heads by billion-dollar streaming platforms.
When you’re backpacking in conditions that require you to carry your own water, luxuries are off-limits, even something as simple as a chair. Think about it: when was the last time you sat on the ground with no support at all? No couch, no office chair, no picnic bench, nothing. Just a rock, a fallen log, a riverbank, or a patch of soft dirt. Being comfortable in that condition is difficult. Frustrating, even.
So I imagined one of my ancient ancestors finally saying, “Enough. I’m going to make a chair.” The idea isn’t hard: something flat to sit on and something to lean your back against. But how? With no hammer, no nails, no axe, no twine, only what’s around you. This, I believe, is why humankind progressed so rapidly: the sheer desire to sit down. We evolved for millions of years to walk upright, only to spend the rest of our existence trying to sit comfortably.
Without even the simplest luxuries, you’re forced into a primal condition. It’s a shock to the system. We’ve become soft, content, and dependent on what we now call the essentials. But we’ve forgotten what it means to be alive. Truly alive.
When you’re lying on the ground, swatting away biting flies, flicking off ants, and pumping water from a tiny spring, you feel alive. You are constantly reminded of it. For most of human existence, this was the norm, clinging to survival under threat from nature or other humans.
In the last 50 years, we’ve entered a new era. We run through sprinklers, recline in air-conditioned movie theaters as deep-fried food is delivered to us, and sit in V8-powered vehicles scrolling through news about royals.
Consider this: Do you realize how hard it is to generate a kilowatt of power? That’s today’s currency. Everything we do, production, transportation, and consumption, centers on power. All of nature is consuming solar energy in some form, and we’re no different. All our “necessities” rely on a constant stream of electricity.
As I sit in my office, I think about all the things that consume power: water cooler, printer, workstation, phone, NAS storage, lights, fan, and air conditioner. The cost seems minimal, maybe $5 a day. But the implication is staggering. All this energy supports services and tools we use to generate more money, which we spend to consume more power.
To power just my office, I’d need to produce 3 to 5 kilowatts per hour. That’s an interesting exercise: how would you generate that yourself? Every method, including solar, wind, and combustion, requires significant technology. It’s amazing to realize how far we’ve come, especially after lying out in the desert for days with no power at all.
I found myself sitting in the dirt with a pocketknife and some nylon cord, contemplating how to make a chair. I’ve spent years in computer science, working on complex systems, and yet I was utterly stumped. Every idea I had required tools I didn’t have. So I leaned against a rock and stared at the moon rising on the horizon. No wonder the heavens have always drawn our attention. Uncomfortable, chairless, and lying on the ground, I watched the only available theater: the celestial show above.
All these thoughts ended abruptly when I realized I had rested my hand on a red ant nest. They were not pleased. I jumped up, retreating from my once-perfect backrest. Back to surviving.
Darkness fell, and I rummaged through my backpack, hoping I remembered to pack fully charged batteries for my headlamp.
Eventually, we made it out. We reached our car and drove straight to a restaurant, where we all ordered ice water. We sat there chewing ice with grateful, relieved expressions.
Ice water. A luxury we had completely taken for granted. Served in a glass cup, sipped through a plastic straw, while sitting in a cushioned chair in an air-conditioned room with no insects crawling on us.
Back to civilization, with one difference.
I can see clearly now. Having been away from these things for a few days, I can now see what is truly important. What is most important? Yes, I will set my priorities. I will focus on what is critical and necessary for my existence, and not allow myself to be manipulated by the constant pressure to consume more electricity.
I am free.
Ping.
Just a minute, I have a new notification on my phone. It must be important.
